


Dying to Tell You

by poselikeateam



Series: Higher Vampire Jaskier AUs [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Bisexual Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Canon-Typical Violence, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Disaster Jaskier | Dandelion, Established Relationship, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Himbo Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Idiots in Love, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Oblivious Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Vampire Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:08:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24228598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poselikeateam/pseuds/poselikeateam
Summary: Or: 5 times Jaskier almost died, and the one time Geralt found out that he couldn't.Jaskier always assumed that Geralt knew that he wasn't human, but when he finds out that Geralt still expects him to die on him, well. There's no reason he can't have a little fun with it until Geralt figures it out.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Higher Vampire Jaskier AUs [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754371
Comments: 44
Kudos: 1782
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development, Just.... So cute..., Math





	Dying to Tell You

**Author's Note:**

> I actually adore Higher Vampire Jaskier to the point where it's my headcanon, and I have at least one more story planned with it. The "Geralt finds out Jaskier is a Higher Vampire but Jaskier thought he knew and they're both terribly stupid" trope is my bread and butter.
> 
> Big ups to one of my best friends in the world, who will remain nameless but knows who they are. They know a lot about what the human body can and can't take and gave me advice/ideas for hilarious near-death experiences that you probably wouldn't survive but theoretically could.

1.

Most of the time, Geralt made a point to tell Jaskier to stay behind when he was hunting a monster. Very rarely he would allow the other to come along, but only if he swore to stay out of the way. To his credit, he usually did — though, it was less out of any sort of self-preservation, and more to preserve his clothing.

"I've seen you come back just _dripping_ in viscera," the bard had said on more than one occasion, "and I simply _refuse_ to treat my things as carelessly as you do yours." 

It would have been amusing if it wasn't so alarming. Humans were so, well, squishy. While they rarely knew what was good for them, at the very least they were all afraid of _something_. The bard, though, he had never smelled of fear, except the first few times he saw Geralt exceptionally banged-up. It was almost as if he didn't think about how dangerous this life could be unless he saw something go wrong; like he didn't consider himself in danger unless Geralt was. He didn't really have another explanation for it. 

Still, he usually tried to stay out of the way, and Geralt was thankful for small miracles, as it were. And since they had started… whatever their relationship was now, he’d admit that he indulged Jaskier just a bit more than he used to. It was almost embarrassing what gentle touches, caresses, and sweet nothings could do to convince him.

This hunt in particular wasn't supposed to be particularly dangerous: a few ghouls, maybe an alghoul, haunting a cliffside cemetery. Geralt knew better than to get cocky, or to assume _any_ fight would be easy, but Jaskier had been around worse. He was pretty confident that he could clear out the cemetery, get their money, and go. And honestly, Jaskier probably would have gotten in more trouble if he'd stayed behind in town than if he followed Geralt on the hunt. He'd been making eyes at a woman who was clearly wearing a wedding ring, and it was so rare that Geralt caught him _before_ he was able to stick his sword in another's sheath that he was considering it a stroke of luck.

That is, until Jaskier flew off of the cliff.

Either there were more ghouls than he was led to believe, or he'd missed one, or it had slipped away from him — but in a split second of carelessness that felt like an eternity, the thing had lumbered over to his bard and just... shoved him over the side of the cliff. Geralt had expected Jaskier to stay out of the way, and he had, but he didn't expect him to hang around by the cliff, for Melitele's sake! It didn't take much, just a swipe, for him to be forcibly ejected from the ground. And it wasn't a small drop.

So Geralt saw red. He couldn't believe he'd been so careless, that Jaskier had died so young and in such a stupid way, all because of him. He made short work of the creatures and all but ran down the path to where Jaskier had likely fallen. While he wasn't under any illusions that there was anything he could do for him, he couldn't let himself leave the body there.

Only, when he got to the base of the cliff, there was Jaskier. Sitting, then kneeling, then standing, brushing dirt and leaves off of himself, all while Geralt stared.

"My doublet is _ruined_ ," Jaskier griped, shaking twigs out of his hair. "Geralt, dear, do you think they have a seamstress in town that can mend this tear? Oh, and this one... Ugh. Maybe I ought to write it off entirely."

Geralt continued to stare.

"Um. Hello? Geralt?" Jaskier tilted his head, blue eyes staring back at Geralt with confusion and mild concern.

"You're alive."

"...Yes?"

Geralt blinked. "You fell off of a _cliff_."

Jaskier actually _pouted_ , because of _course_ he did. "Yes, well, I suppose I hit enough things on the way down to break my fall."

Hm. Maybe humans were a bit sturdier than he'd thought.

2.

All was well, for a while — as well as it could be for a Witcher and his bard, that is. They continued as usual, though Geralt was a little more protective than he had been in the past. He'd heard of people getting a new lease on life after a near-death experience, but in this case, it was more of a new lease on Jaskier's life.

"You know," Jaskier told him one day, "while I appreciate the sudden consideration for my well-being, you don't need to _baby_ me, Geralt. I travel without you, too, and I do just fine."

And there wasn't really a reason for the feeling that gave him, a sort of squeezing in his chest. He knew that he didn't need to be there to protect Jaskier all the time, of course, but for some reason it bothered him that he couldn't. 

He didn't really get much time to think about it— not like he would, of course, but still — before Jaskier was standing and stretching. "Well," he said, "you can sit there and brood, but I am personally going to take full advantage of what appears to be a reasonably warm little river while I have the chance."

Geralt wasn't sure if it was because Jaskier was tired of Geralt hovering over him, or if he actually wanted to bathe, but he decided he should give the bard some space anyway. So, he grunted his assent and started sharpening his blades, which he had been planning to do. 

Still, he was going to keep an eye on Jaskier from the campsite. The river he'd mentioned wasn't really out of his line of sight, and the bard had a terrible knack for getting into trouble. With their luck, he would lose his footing and drown if Geralt didn't watch him. (Yes, okay, he might be overreacting, the bard wasn't a child... mostly, but better safe than sorry.)

He averted his eyes as Jaskier began to disrobe, unwilling to cross the line from 'concerned friend (lover? Partner?)' to 'voyeur'. He looked up when he heard the other step into the water fully, and then went back to whetting his blades, looking up every now and again to make sure the bard didn't manage to drown himself. He wasn't going to stare, partly because it was rude and strange, and partly because Jaskier took _ages_ to wash himself with his fancy soaps and oils and it would frankly be a waste of time watching him do all of that when there were plenty of other things for him to do with his time.

Suddenly, he heard a noise that hadn't come from either of them. If he weren't a Witcher he wouldn't have noticed, but his sensitive ears picked up the twang of a bowstring, the whistle of an arrow — no, several arrows — flying through the air, and then—

Thud. 

As if he'd just used Blizzard, everything slowed down. He saw several arrows pierce Jaskier's torso as he was stepping out of the water, and the young man looked down at them and then up at the trees they'd come from. 

In a moment that felt too slow, Geralt stood and rushed towards the trees. He could see that the arrows had likely hit vital organs, and there was no healer around for miles; there was nothing he could do for Jaskier, but he could at least catch whoever had just fucking _shot him_ before they got away.

It turned out he needn't worry: the culprits stepped out of the woods with their hands in the air, eyes wide, trembling at the approach of a _very_ angry-looking Witcher. Hunters, it looked like. 

"W-we didn't mean to," one of them stammered immediately. "Saw somethin' movin' in the stream, thought it were a deer or bandit, we did!"

"What kind of moron shoots without being sure what they're shooting at?" Geralt snarled back, still gripping the hilt of his steel sword. 

Just then, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he whipped around only to see—

"Jaskier?"

"Geralt, please, you're scaring these poor men," the bard said. At least he'd put his trousers back on. "Beyond giving a bit of a fright, they didn't hurt anyone. So, no harm, no foul, right?"

"They _shot you_ ," Geralt insisted, though curiously, Jaskier didn't have a mark on him.

The bard shook his head. "They shot _at_ me, maybe, but I suppose Lady Luck is on my side today. As you can see, I am unharmed."

This didn't make any sense. Geralt had _seen_ the arrows stick into the bard, but the evidence to the contrary was right in front of him. No blood, no holes, no _nothing_. 

"Hm," he said, finally sheathing his sword. "Be more fucking careful," he snarled, though whether it was at the bard or the hunters even he couldn't say.

"Sorry about him," he heard Jaskier say to the frightened men as he stalked back to the campsite. "He's so terribly protective."

3.

After two near-death experiences, Geralt made the executive decision to head for a city. If he was lucky, he could drop Jaskier off in some high-end tavern where he would play for coin and bed women who didn’t have husbands or fathers that would stab him, and Geralt could get just a little peace for a while.

It wasn’t like he didn’t enjoy traveling with Jaskier — they’d been together long enough now that they had a routine, and having the chatterbox bard there had long since become more comforting than irritating. It was just that he really, really didn’t want to see the bard die yet. 

He didn’t feel like he needed any complex reasons for that. He didn’t want Jaskier to get killed, he didn’t want to _see_ him get killed, and, as they say, the third time’s the charm. So, they headed for Vizima, where there was usually no shortage of contracts, Geralt wasn’t completely hated, and Jaskier seemed to enjoy the brothels, if nothing else. 

The two made their first stop at the Hairy Bear Inn, and Geralt decided (and may have been prodded towards this decision by Jaskier) that he could afford, even deserved, to take one night off and have a few drinks. It always surprised him just how much liquor Jaskier could hold, and even when he was drunk he still had a certain grace to him — it was almost like he was pretending to be drunk, only Geralt always saw how much he drank and frankly, there was no way the bardling wasn’t completely smashed by the end of the night if they’d decided to make an evening of it.

The problem with alcohol is that stupid decisions stick to it like fleas on a stray dog. Somehow, Jaskier had thought it a _brilliant_ idea to reach into Geralt’s bag, grab the first bottle he saw, and chug it.

Okay, okay, it didn’t go quite like that. He knew that Geralt often used alcohol as potion bases, and so he assumed that Geralt had vodka in his pack. After spending most of his own coin, he didn’t apparently want to pay the bartender more, insisting that the prices were far too high for what he was serving. 

Geralt was a little tipsy at this point but Jaskier was absolutely sloshed, so the poor decision making didn’t stop at rooting through a Witcher’s pack for free alcohol. No, he was apparently too drunk to read, because he happened to grab a bottle of _very poisonous_ Archespore juice and _chug it_.

Fuck.

He expected the bard to drop dead in seconds, minutes at most. He expected vomiting, agony, paralysis, any number of horrible things as the juice essentially melted his insides.

Nothing happened.

“Well, that was strong stuff!” Jaskier slurred cheerily, grimacing just a little. 

“It was _poison_.”

Jaskier actually laughed at him. “Obviously not, Witcher,” he said, “as I am still alive and well and having an exceptionally good time!”

“You shouldn’t be,” Geralt said. “Look at the label.”

With a shrug, Jaskier said, “The label must have been wrong. It tasted like vodka to me and, as I’ve said, I’m feeling perfectly fine.” Without giving Geralt a moment to even consider what kind of response that should have garnered, he stumbled off towards a group of gamblers, and that was that.

4.

The next day the bard was his usual chipper self. He was barely even hungover, which Geralt knew a lot of people envied but was just another odd thing about his bard that he’d learned to accept. Now, apparently, he needed to add “stupidly good luck” to that list. At least someone or something was looking out for Jaskier, since he refused to look out for himself.

Yes, okay, Geralt could admit that he had woken up in a pretty foul mood, but could he really be blamed? Three times now his best-friend-turned-lover almost got killed and survived on sheer dumb luck. Three times he was convinced that this was it, that Jaskier wouldn’t even get to grow old, that he was suddenly gone. And while he was glad that this wasn’t the case, in the end, of course it was going to be stressful.

For his part, the younger man was trying to cheer him up. He didn’t want to admit that it was sort of working, but it reminded him that Jaskier was still alive, so of course it was going to. 

Maybe that was his fault, the small half-smiles spurring Jaskier on towards stupider and sillier little stunts, making him just a little more careless. He was miming the story of some failed conquest as they walked through town, movements exaggerated to go with the telling of a story that more likely than not was never actually that dramatic. 

“And _then_ , he gets so angry, that he starts turning _purple_ ,” Jaskier said, pulling a face that was so exaggerated that Geralt couldn’t help but huff out a laugh. “And he actually grabs for my—”

Geralt, it turns out, did not learn what the angry man had grabbed for. Since the both of them were paying so much attention to the stupid, silly story, neither of them were paying enough attention to where the bard was walking. He ended up slipping and falling down the stone steps that led to the sewer entrance, hitting the ground with an audible _crunch_ when he made his final landing.

It was sure to be his _final_ landing, judging by the state of him. Geralt was no medic, but he was a Witcher, and he’d seen enough broken necks (and caused enough of them, as well) to know what that looked like. Even if it were possible for Jaskier to survive that, the way his neck bulged and twisted unnaturally, there was no way he’d ever move again.

Except he did.

Immediately.

With something of a grunt, the bard pushed himself up to a sitting position. He then reached up, grabbed his head, and _twisted_. There was another sick snapping noise as the bones in his neck popped back into place, and then he was standing, carefully climbing the stairs, rubbing at his neck with one hand as he made his way to Geralt.

“Well, that hurt,” he griped as Geralt stared.

“Jaskier,” he said slowly, entirely unsure what to follow it with.

“Yes, Geralt, dear?” Jaskier answered with a tilt of his head that _should be impossible_. 

“You just broke your fucking neck.”

Jaskier laughed, as he always did when he definitely just should have died (and this should not have been enough of an occurrence that he had a usual thing to do afterwards, but here they were) and patted Geralt on his arm. “Clearly not.”

“I _saw it_ ,” Geralt insisted.

“I assure you, it looked worse than it was,” Jaskier told him. “Anyway, I believe I was telling you a story?”

Geralt grunted. He wasn’t really interested in hearing the rest anymore.

5.

Now, this was getting ridiculous.

After four of what Geralt was sure were near-death experiences, never mind that they should have been flat-out death experiences, he was feeling very overwhelmed. Geralt did not like feeling overwhelmed, so he decided to split up from Jaskier for just a little while. He needed space, and thankfully Jaskier didn’t question that. 

Wandering alone was fine for him. The quiet was sometimes just something that he needed, after having spent so long alone. Sure, he missed the bard on occasion, but he could deal with that. He was long past beating himself up over allowing that level of attachment, now just facing it with a sort of resignation. 

Part of the problem was that he’d resigned himself to losing Jaskier one day, but not violently. He assumed that one day the bard would simply die of old age, surrounded by luxury. At the very least, it was what he deserved. Now, every time he almost saw the other man die, it reminded him that the longer they stayed together, the less of a possibility that was. And worse, there was nothing he could do about it. Jaskier never, ever listened to anyone if he didn’t want to. He did what he wanted, and that was that. Frankly, Geralt couldn’t bring himself to attempt the kind of cruelty that would drive the other man away — he’d already done that once, years ago, and Jaskier didn’t deserve it once let alone a second time.

So he wasn’t really sure what to do, or if there was anything that he could do. For now, he had to just live in the moment, try not to worry about it. After all, he was a Witcher above all else, and Witchers who allowed themselves to get distracted didn’t stick around for long.

There was some kind of Elven ruin that he’d been pointed towards that was supposed to have a special kind of flower he was looking for. Usually, he wouldn’t take this kind of contract, but he was told that there were Bruxae in the ruins and the alchemist was paying a pretty sizeable amount for the flowers, so he’d taken up the contract without any real hesitation. If he had to kill a few vampires, well, there was probably a contract for them out there as well, so it would be efficient if nothing else.

He expected it to be dark and dreary, but the place looked almost homely. Some of the stone chambers had candles lit, and while it wouldn’t be enough for a human to see in, it was bright enough that he didn’t need to use Cat. Deeper in, he heard voices, though he couldn’t make out what they were saying. 

Slowly, quietly, he made his way through the ruin, preferring the element of surprise to be on his side rather than his enemy’s. Silver sword in hand, he crept as silently as he could towards the source of the voices. With a sinking feeling, he realised that one of them sounded familiar. 

What the fuck was Jaskier doing here?

Geralt really, really hoped that he was wrong, but he heard a woman’s voice and a man’s and that man sounded exactly like his companion. The laughter was the same as well. Why would Jaskier be here, and who would he possibly be laughing with?

When he came across the main chamber he stared. There was Jaskier, as he had dreaded, but instead of being in any sort of visible danger, he looked like he was having a great time, even though the only thing between him and a Bruxa was a fucking tea set.

“Jaskier, what—”

Jaskier whipped around, eyes wide with shock, though it quickly melted into a welcoming smile. “Geralt! I’ll tentatively say it’s good to see you, depending on your business. What are you doing here?”

“I should ask you the same,” Geralt said, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Jaskier scoffed. “I was invited. I don’t imagine you’re here to catch up with old friends as I am.”

“You’re friends with a vampire?”

“Several.” The bard raised one eyebrow. “Come now, Geralt, is it really that much of a surprise?”

“That you aren’t being eaten? Yes.”

“Really! How rude!” Geralt was more perplexed when the bard actually seemed to take offense. “As if all vampires are just mindless beasts, killing anyone they come across? You eat meat, Geralt, but Roach is fine.”

That was… Honestly, Geralt wasn’t sure if that was a fair point, or the maddest thing he’d ever been told. 

“If you are here to kill my dear friend, I’m afraid I’ll have to object,” Jaskier added, and Geralt frowned at him.

“There’s no contract for the inhabitants of this place,” he said carefully, “but I am here for a certain flower.”

Jaskier’s face immediately brightened, smiling like the sun was radiating from his face. “Well then, that’s different! I’m sure the lovely lady wouldn’t object to my dear friend taking a few clippings from her beautiful garden?” 

The vampire actually smiled at him like it was flattered, like the human women he wooed often did. When Geralt left the ruin it was with a bouquet, a bard, and a bad headache.

+1.

This time, Jaskier was pretty sure the game was over. Geralt, for all he knew about monsters and curses and fighting, could be as dumb as a bag of rocks sometimes, and Jaskier adored him for it. He would have thought that the Witcher would have realised what he was by now — even if he didn’t realise that humans were supposed to get older as time passed, you don’t just spend most of your time with someone for decades without them catching on to that sort of thing — but apparently that was not the case.

The first time, when he’d been thrown from a cliff, he was intrigued. Clearly Geralt had no idea that he couldn’t die from something as trivial as that. He was almost ashamed to admit that it was more or less second nature to brush himself off and insist that the fall wasn’t _that_ bad, really. As they went back to their campsite, he realised that he could have a little fun with this. Just how long would it take Geralt to realise that his bard wasn’t human?

And under other circumstances, this would be the stupidest game he’d ever played. If he weren’t a Higher Vampire, Geralt could probably kill him pretty easily. If he didn’t know Geralt as well as he did, he would think the Witcher would be angry with him when he found out. And well, maybe he would, but not I-never-want-to-see-you-again angry, just sort of brood-by-the-fire-for-a-little-while angry. 

At first, he wasn’t even going to do anything, really. He had all the time in the world, after all. It was sheer dumb luck that less than a week later he’d be pelted with arrows from very stupid and inexperienced hunters as he bathed. The good luck of it was that he wasn’t wearing his clothes, so they weren’t ruined; as it happened, there was also no evidence in the form of torn clothing where the arrows pierced him.

So he splashed the blood off of himself, threw on his trousers, and raced over to where Geralt looked like he was about to kill the poor things with his face alone. It really wasn’t a stretch to think they missed — if they were inexperienced enough to mistake a bard for a deer, did he expect them to actually hit their target? When Geralt stormed off, he tried to calm the boys down, assure them that he really wasn’t hurt, but please do be more careful.

Apparently Geralt decided that the wilderness was too dangerous for him after that, because they went straight to Vizima. He wasn’t stupid enough to think it was random; Geralt preferred small towns to cities most of the time, so he figured he was probably going to be dropped off here sooner or later. And he was fine with that, of course — everyone needed their space sometimes, after all, but he also didn’t want to part when Geralt was this upset and confused. Who knew when they would meet up again, after all, and didn’t Geralt deserve a little bit of fun while they were able to have it?

So he’d convinced the Witcher to take a night off (which was rare, but he had “almost died”, what, two times now in a week? He could be indulged). They drank and drank, and drank some more, and while Jaskier enjoyed the taste of alcohol, it didn’t really _do_ anything for him. He always had to pretend he was drunk, or slip out for a little _nip of the red_ , if you pardon the pun. 

But he never had the best impulse control, and no number of centuries under his belt would probably ever give it to him. So he decided to push, just a little. After all, what fun was it to play a game like this without putting anything into it? Especially, he thought, if he was already going to have to take a break from it soon.

He’d thus reached into Geralt’s bag, grabbed the first bottle that wasn’t one of his Witcher-y potions (because those were expensive, and not having them could mean the difference between life or death for Geralt which was a game he never wanted to play), and downed it.

It tasted like shit.

Still, he grinned at his oblivious muse who was apparently _still_ convinced that he was about to die. Poison? What poison? The label must have been wrong, because this was definitely vodka. And before he could be questioned more, he made his way over to a group of gamblers and decided that hey, maybe he _would_ get drunk tonight after all. 

The next morning, he thought he might have slightly fucked up because now Geralt was in a bad mood. Geralt was the absolute worst to deal with some mornings, but Jaskier knew how to cheer him up, at least sometimes. It wasn’t guaranteed, but he figured he had a better track record than most people with this, at least. And that morning, it had worked. He was admittedly not paying a lot of attention to anything but Geralt who was actually smiling and laughing and engaged because of _him_ and wasn’t _that_ a fucking power trip? 

To his defence, the steps were wet and slippery. Sure, he wasn’t the most graceful of his kind, but it wasn’t entirely his fault that he fell and broke his neck. Usually he would lie there, let himself have a bit of a whinge about it before he got up, but he really didn’t want to worry Geralt. The poor dear had surely seen enough broken necks in his profession that he would be sure Jaskier was finally dead if he didn’t move, so he sat up and snapped his neck back into place.

And yes, it did hurt a little, of course. It was stiff and sore afterwards as well. But the faster he did it, the faster it was out of the way.

And Geralt still didn’t get it.

Holy shit.

After that he really didn’t fault the man for wanting to part. When you think your friend-slash-lover is mortal and they keep almost dying on you, yeah, he understood needing a break from that. So he decided he would just do his own thing for a while, see Geralt eventually, and take things a little slower from there. 

Only, it kind of didn’t go the way he planned. He was visiting his sister who’d taken up residence in an elven ruin (and ‘ruin’ was really not the right word because the architecture was almost entirely still intact and she really made the place into a home, but whatever). They were having a lovely tea and talking about this and that, until of course Geralt came up. 

“You mean he thinks you’re mortal?” she asked, shocked, and he laughed. 

“I know!”

“Isn’t it his _entire job_ —”

“I _know_!”

She paused, sipped her tea. “Julian, dear, you’re in love with a moron.”

He laughed again, harder this time. “I know, but he’s the sweetest moron—”

And then said moron walked into the room.

Thankfully Geralt seemed too shocked to have heard their conversation. They had been speaking the Common tongue because he was so terribly rusty with their ancient language, and she wanted to practise so she could start to integrate herself with humans one day as he had. For a moment he wished that they had been speaking Vampire, but Geralt hadn’t registered that they were talking about him anyway, so it didn’t matter.

He was also very thankful that Geralt was _not_ here for blood, because he didn’t want to have to try to work that out. He wasn’t quite willing to let either of them die, thank you very much. So he’d gotten Geralt his flowers, followed him out, and then they were on the road again.

And still — still! Geralt didn’t get it!

After all of this he was honestly ready to just come out and tell him — it wasn’t fun anymore, really, but more like kicking a child. He felt like he was bullying the poor man at this point. So he was going to tell Geralt that he wasn’t human, he just needed to find the right time to do it.

That, unfortunately, led to _this_.

This, of course, being Jaskier lying on the ground next to all of his innards. 

It happened like this: they were walking through the forest and Geralt stopped, then yelled for him to get back. He had exactly no time to do so before he was grabbed by some horrid looking insectoid creature and it was tearing into his stomach with gusto. Geralt charged the wretched beast with a shout that bordered on a roar, and it tossed him aside like a ragdoll. How _rude_. 

The Witcher had made short work of the creature, all things considered — and Jaskier planned on asking him just what that was, because he hadn’t really gotten a good look at the thing before it tore into him, and anyway monsters weren’t really his area of expertise. In moments he was on his knees next to Jaskier, worry in his golden eyes, hands almost shaking as they hovered over him.

It all would have been very tragic and romantic if it weren’t actually stupid and pointless.

“Geralt,” he said, but the stupid man shushed him.

“You’re going to be okay, Jaskier,” he said, and Jaskier laughed.

“I know that, you silly man,” he said, “but I would be okay a lot _faster_ if you could give me a hand, please.”

Geralt frowned at him in a sad sort of way that, for just a moment, broke Jaskier’s heart. “I don’t know that I can help you,” he murmured.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Geralt, I’m not dying. Just help me get my guts back where they belong, please.”

The Witcher stared at him, brow furrowed in hurt and confusion. Jaskier sighed again and brought a bloody hand up to caress his cheek. “Geralt, listen to me — I am _fine_. It takes more than this to kill a Higher Vampire, you should know that.”

“What.”

The bard rolled his eyes and started coiling up his own intestines. “They take ages to go back in on their own,” he explained, “and I am not having this conversation with my insides on my outside, getting all dirty. Ugh, this outfit is going to need its own funeral.”

“Jaskier, what—”

“I told you, let me get my insides back on the inside,” Jaskier all but snapped. Geralt fell silent, and Jaskier gritted his teeth as his body started to knit itself back together.

“This feels _awful_ ,” he groaned. Geralt tentatively reached out and took hold of his hand, and Jaskier offered him a small smile. “Thank you, dear. I don’t want to die, of course, but I wish it didn’t have to be like this, ugh. It’s so messy and slow and it feels terrible.”

“Hm.”

Finally, after what felt like centuries, Jaskier was as good as new. He stood up, with a little help from Geralt, and brushed himself off as best he could. “I’m going to need a bath,” he started conversationally.

“Jaskier.”

The bard sighed. “Yes, alright. I suppose I _did_ promise we’d talk about this. Really, I expected you to figure it out ages ago, so when I realised you still thought I was just a human? I thought I could have some fun with it.”

“You’ve been almost dying on purpose?” Geralt growled, and Jaskier shook his head quickly. 

“No! Well. One time. With the drinking things out of your bag. Everything else was a pure accident, I assure you.”

“Why did you never tell me?” 

Jaskier shrugged. “I thought you knew. And then when it turned out you didn’t, well, can you blame me for wanting to have a little fun with it? When you get to my age, entertainment is a real gift.”

“Your age, hm?” Geralt gave him a look that was almost teasing. “And what might that be, exactly?”

Snorting out a little laugh, Jaskier answered, “Oh, wouldn’t you just _love_ to know.”


End file.
